A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

said
that his men had ridden all the way around the lake chasing Beric Dondarrion
and slaying rebels.
We weren’t rebels,
Arya thought.
We were the
Night’s Watch; the Night’s Watch takes no side.
Ser Amory had fewer men
than she remembered, though, and many wounded.
I hope their wounds fester.
I hope they all die.
    Then she saw the three near the end of the column.
    Rorge had donned a black halfhelm with a broad iron nasal that made it hard to
see that he did not have a nose. Biter rode ponderously beside him on a
destrier that looked ready to collapse under his weight. Half-healed burns
covered his body, making him even more hideous than before.
    But Jaqen H’ghar still smiled. His garb was still ragged and filthy, but he had
found time to wash and brush his hair. It streamed down across his shoulders,
red and white and shiny, and Arya heard the girls giggling to each other in
admiration.
    I should have let the fire have them. Gendry said to, I should have
listened.
If she hadn’t thrown them that axe they’d all be dead. For a
moment she was afraid, but they rode past her without a flicker of interest.
Only Jaqen H’ghar so much as glanced in her direction, and his eyes passed
right over her.
He

does not know me,
she thought.
Arry was a fierce little boy with a
sword, and I’m just a grey mouse girl with a pail.
    She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By
evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled
when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya
begged Weese’s pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. “Weese,” she
yawned. “Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the
Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen
Cersei.” She thought she might add three more names to her prayer, but she was
too tired to decide tonight.
    Arya was dreaming of wolves running wild through the wood when a strong hand
clamped down over her mouth like smooth warm stone, solid and unyielding. She
woke at once, squirming and struggling. “A girl says nothing,” a voice
whispered close behind her ear. “A girl keeps her lips closed, no one hears,
and friends may talk in secret. Yes?”
    Heart pounding, Arya managed the tiniest of nods.
    Jaqen H’ghar took his hand away. The cellar was black as pitch and she could
not see his face, even inches away. She could
smell
him, though; his
skin smelled clean and soapy, and he had scented his hair. “A boy becomes a
girl,” he murmured.
    â€œI was
always
a girl. I didn’t think you saw me.”
    â€œA man sees. A man knows.”
    She remembered that she hated him. “You scared me. You’re one of
them
now, I should have let you burn. What are you doing

here? Go away or I’ll yell for Weese.”
    â€œA man pays his debts. A man owes three.”
    â€œThree?”
    â€œThe Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This
girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak
the names, and a man will do the rest.”
    He wants to help me,
Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her
dizzy. “Take me to Riverrun, it’s not far, if we stole some horses we
could—”
    He laid a finger on her lips. “Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no
less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder.” He kissed her hair
softly. “But not too long.”
    By the time Arya lit her stub of a candle, only a faint smell remained of him,
a whiff of ginger and cloves lingering in the air. The woman in the next niche
rolled over on her straw and complained of the light, so Arya blew it out. When
she closed her eyes, she saw faces swimming before her. Joffrey and his mother,
Ilyn Payne and Meryn Trant and Sandor Clegane . . . but they
were in King’s Landing hundreds of miles away, and Ser Gregor had lingered only
a few nights before departing again for more foraging, taking Raff and Chiswyck
and the Tickler with him. Ser Amory Lorch was here, though, and she hated him
almost as much. Didn’t she? She wasn’t certain. And there was always
Weese.
    She thought of him again the next morning, when lack of sleep made her yawn.
“Weasel,” Weese purred, “next time I see

that mouth droop open, I’ll pull out your